


doctor, doctor, give me the the news (i got a bad case of loving you)

by HopelessBanana



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angus is Taako's adopted kid, Background Relationships, Canon Relationships, Falling In Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-11-10 01:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11117154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopelessBanana/pseuds/HopelessBanana
Summary: At the end of a long shift, Kravitz is forced to amputate a patient's arm. But the night isn't all bad: one of the friends who brought him in is the most beautiful man he's ever met. And he's a terrible influence.(A surgeon and a struggling single father fall in love. A patient is patient and a pilot flies home.)





	1. Blood and Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> this is a hospital/doctor au but also an au where kravitz's accent isn't fake cause i can't be arsed researching american hospitals/general american equivalents to things so instead we're in england and there's an abnormally concentrated number of american immigrants living in this town ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ but also i don't know shit about being a doctor so apologies for any inaccuracies. it's gonna be mostly taakitz-centric but i'm a bad merle stan so he's gonna be a major player (it is his arm getting sawed off, in case you hadn't guessed). probably only like?? 4 chapters long or something? this is more a prologue.
> 
> content warning for gore and smoking, if you're not cool with either of those they're gonna recur quite a bit so you might wanna skip this one. may also accidentally slip in some political stuff but nothing major (just enough that you can definitely guess what party i support).  
> ships are pretty much canon stuff + davenchurch bc old men in love makes me weak and i almost cried at curmudgeons
> 
> thanks cel for giving me a title (from robert palmer's "bad case of loving you")

Kravitz wipes sweat from his brow, feels the weight of the scalpel in his hand, the give and resistance as he cuts clean lines into flesh.

It is five in the morning, nearing the end of his shift, but an older dwarven man was rushed into A&E half an hour ago, arm dripping with blood, and Kravitz has no idea how to save it. The human and elf that were with him were incoherent attempting to explain what had happened - Kravitz, in his sleep deprived stupor, only heard _pop_ _bottle_ and _explosion_ and couldn’t quite piece together the connection yet, like trying to join the right two jigsaw puzzle pieces together from the wrong ends. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he mumbles, stepping back from the patient for a moment to shake himself. The room wobbles around him, and the student doctor training with him lays a gloved hand on the plasticky fabric of his scrubs. He nods to him, and the kid backs away, watching closely. 

The man’s arm looks grisly: there’s a piece of plastic embedded in the largest wound, what looks like chemical burns covering the majority of his forearm, dirt not just beneath his fingernails but across a lot of the skin. A cursory glance at his other arm shows that it too is covered in grime. Kravitz squints at it for a minute, trying to figure out where the earth came from, sidetracked in the slightly sleep deprived haze he’s fallen into.  _ I shouldn’t be doing this, not right now _ , he thinks, knowing already that he’s the most experienced surgeon on duty right now, that whoever is on call will take too long to arrive, that Raven -  _ god I need her here right now, she’d know what to do -  _ doesn’t start her shift for another two hours -  _ and she’d need to wake up and get here and she lives an hour away she won’t make it in time  _ \- and he is alone to deal with this. There is already mud mixing with the bleeding, sick and brown and yellow and red, and all the colours blend together.

“What are you going to do?” the student asks. His eyes are anxious, behind the safety glasses, it’s easy to tell even with half his face covered by the surgical mask.

“I don’t know,” Kravitz admits, a little helpless. The boy’s eyes widen with panic, his hands shaking. “I think…” He runs each worst-case scenario through his mind, listing and prioritising, trying the best he can, in the heat of the moment, to be  _ logical _ . “Get the plastic out.” He decides.

This is dangerous business. He knows it, knows he needs help, but there’s no damn time, and he slices through the flesh where the piece of plastic has embedded itself, manages to pull it out, but there’s so much  _ blood _ . “I need someone to help,” he admits, quietly, halfway to crying. “I need a tourniquet, I need a- a second opinion.”

The student runs outside, yelling for assistance. There’s a team next door extracting a bullet after a shooting. Kravitz waits, swaying a little, the lights of the operating theatre too bright, the fluids covering all the surfaces too red, until Lucretia runs in, cursing, and gasps at the sight in front of her.

True to form and ever reliable, she quickly takes charge. She tells him what to do, takes the lead, and an arm is amputated. “It's not enough,” she tells him when he protests it, words half-slurred with tiredness. “There isn't much choice.”

The line between life and death is thin, wobbly, intangible. The man survives and stabilises, and Lucretia sends Kravitz straight home. “You're exhausted,” she says, although the bags beneath her eyes betray her own tiredness too. “You can't help anyone like this. Help yourself first. I'll explain to Raven.”

He stumbles walking towards the exit through the pastel green of the waiting room, so very different to the sterile white of the operating theatre, splattered with gore. There is still blood here: a young girl cradles her left hand, spiked with a shard of glass, a man presses a bag of ice to a weeping swelling on the side of his face. It is too early yet for the pensioners to come complaining of their heart or their breathing - this time of morning it is mostly injuries. 

The two men who accompanied the dwarf here are sitting beside each other in silence by the entrance. Kravitz wonders briefly why they are out here rather than nearer the ward, until he sees the olive green pack of cigarettes the elf clutches in his hands. The smoking area is out there. It draws his attention, and now that he thinks of it, he can smell it, hovering heavy in the air. He looks the man over: slim, toned, a beautiful face, a golden rope of plaited blonde hair looped into a bun on the back of his head. Kravitz wishes instinctively that he’ll quit soon; his is a healthy, glowing beauty that seems marred by it, never mind the health risks, but how can he begrudge him a smoke right now, when his friend has just lost his arm.  _ Does he even know? Has anyone told them yet if they're out here _ ?

The elf's head lifts up, and he recognises Kravitz. “Doc. How's Merle?” he asks, a little faintly, as if the words are simply the reverberations of a whisper in an echoing corridor. The human he’s with - larger, broad-shouldered - tenses, clenches the fist he has wrapped around the hem of his shirt.

Kravitz tries to find the words. “He’s alive,” he says, first of all. “Stable. But we… We had to…” His voice trails off, lost.

“Had to what?” the elf asks. There’s a look of alarm about him, as if he feels about to spring out of his seat.

“His arm.” He understands, of course, though it comes slowly, the realisation spreading across his face like a ripple from a drop of water in a pond. Kravitz coughs, in a sudden moment of clarity. “I’m so sorry. We couldn’t save it.”

The other man bursts immediately into tears, clutching a hand to his mouth and letting out a loud sob, but the elf is quiet, muted. “Oh,” he says, staring vacantly forward. “ _ Oh _ ,” he says again. Silently, he stands, making his way towards the door. Kravitz glances at his friend, already hiccuping, trying to stop himself crying. He feels like he should say or do something, but gives another quick glance at the elf standing outside, across the road in the smoking shelter, with its green metal posts and clear acrylic sheeting, fiddling with his lighter. The man looks over, and motions to him with a jerk of his head and a quirk of his eyebrows.

Kravitz is too tired to think about it, and ducks out of the door.

“Magnus works through things quickly. It’s just the shock. Let him process it,” the man says.

“Okay,” Kravitz replies.

The lighter finally sparks, and he cheers, lighting the cigarette he holds between two long, slender fingers. “That’s a bad habit,” he tells him.

The man snorts and takes a drag. “I’m at a  _ hospital _ , handsome. You think I haven’t been told that a dozen times in the last few hours?”

Kravitz shrugs. “I suppose.” He sticks his hands in his pockets, rolls back on the balls of his feet. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Taako,” the man says, offering his free hand. Kravitz reaches out and shakes it. Taako is a little slight, but he has a firm grip. “I… Kinda forgot yours.”

Kravitz half-smiles, the best he can with the emotional exhaustion of the evening weighing on him. “Mr. Mac.”

“You’re off shift now, I take it?” Taako looks him over, gesturing to the heavy, black wool overcoat he’s wearing instead of a doctor’s coat. “What’s your first name?”

“Oh. Kravitz.”

“Kravitz, huh?” Taako takes another drag, politely blowing his smoke away. The soft grey vapour floats out of sight on the wind. “Nice horns.”

A little self-conscious, Kravitz reaches up to touch the base of one. “Thanks?”

“Sorry, is that a dumb thing to say?”

“Just unexpected.” They pause. The sky is grey-blue, the sun peeking out from behind the clouds, the taste of morning dew hanging fresh in the air, the earthy smell of night turning to day. It makes a change from the metallic, salty scent of the operating theatre, the sterile bleach of the ward. “Not many people are keen on tieflings. Sometimes I’ll get patients who see me and think I’m more likely to stab them with one of these than stitch them up.”

Taako blows a raspberry. “Fuck ‘em. You look like hell, those bags beneath your eyes ain’t a great look, fella, but you still helped Merle. That’s gotta count for something.”

“Not enough,” Kravitz mumbles, thinks of the panic in Lucretia’s eyes, the friction of medical saw against bone. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey. Buddy. You probably saved his life. He was bleeding out when we found him. Me and Mags heard a bang and would have rolled over back to sleep if we hadn’t had some trouble with some kids lately, ran out to the garden to see if they were mucking about, but Merle had been doing some late night gardening or some shit, and everything was... It was  _ everywhere _ . I was  _ terrified _ . So don’t sell yourself short.” There’s a thickness to his voice. For all the calm he’s outwardly projecting, Kravitz has dealt with enough people in distress to know when someone is hiding their emotions. He’s never sure what to  _ do  _ about it, though. 

“Thank you,” he says, simply, instead. He watches Taako suck in another breath of smoke, almost envious.

Taako notices. “Want saves?” he asks, holding out the end. It’s burned about three quarters down, glowing orange and black.

“I’m a doctor,” Kravitz protests.

“You’re off shift.” Taako shrugs.

Kravitz quit smoking halfway through university after a module on lung cancer. He couldn’t look at a cigarette for weeks without feeling sick. But it’s been a long night. He reaches for it and takes a drag, sighing as he tastes the tobacco (and menthol, he notes), and feels the familiar warmth fill his lungs. “Thank you.”

“Thank  _ you _ .” He is earnest, wide eyed. His irises are multicoloured, Kravitz realises, hazel-green at the centre, radiating out to pink, speckled with dots of brown. Kravitz is complimented on his eyes a lot, their honey brown, almost gold colour, the same as his mother has, but he thinks they probably pale in comparison. “Seriously. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Kravitz says, breathily. 

Taako’s gaze softens, and he glances down at the asphalt. “I should… Go see if Magnus is alright. See ya, homeboy.” He nudges him gently as he passes, walking back in the direction of the waiting room. Kravitz watches him go, squinting to try and see through the doors, past the triage area, but it’s harder looking inside than out. He frowns, disappointed for some reason, and finishes the cigarette, stamping the butt into the ground and then making his way over to the staff parking to find his car.

The half hour journey home is stressful, but he makes it in one piece. That’s something, at the very least. He stumbles up the stairs and through the door of his flat, collapsing on the bed and almost falling asleep in his coat. With the last remnants of waking thought, he pulls off his clothes and crawls under the covers.

He dreams of rotting, infected flesh, and the screams of a man as his arms are removed, and startles awake in a cold sweat. When he checks the time, it is only half seven, barely an hour since he went to sleep. He can still taste Taako’s cigarette, but that, at least, is a nicer thought than his nightmares. With a pang, he realises that he probably won’t ever see him again. Strange, how that is, he thinks - he can save a person’s life and then never meet them afterwards. There are those especially grateful, who send flowers and gifts and tokens of thanks, and Kravitz appreciates it, he truly does, he keeps a drawer full of letters and cards from past patients. But it isn’t everyone. Most like to try to forget and move on.

He pulls the drawer open now, fingering through the sheets of paper and cardstock, rereading some. A woman named Noelle, thanking him for fitting her prosthetic legs. A letter from a firefighter named Julia commending his work dealing with the casualties from a particularly destructive blaze. He smiles a little, tries to comfort himself. Noelle didn’t get her legs back, but she  _ did  _ win a silver medal for boxing in the Paralympics. Maybe the dwarf from earlier,  _ what did Taako say his name was? Merle? _ , will be fine too. He looked the robust sort, the kind of guy to recover easily, even from a great blow, the sort of man who endures.

Kravitz gets a glass of water, spreading the letters across his kitchen table and frowning regardless. Whenever there’s a night like this, a night when something happens that shakes his very soul, when the plans he’d laid out don’t just go off the rails but crash and burn, it haunts him. The cards help. They don’t fix it.

He groans, presses his face into his hands, and grabs a dirty t-shirt off the floor, a pair of joggers, his coat, sandals, and runs down to the corner shop and buys a packet of cigarettes.

When he turns up at work the next day and finds Merle on the ward, complaining about his arm (with good reason) but otherwise lively and well, he feels a wash of relief. Then he notices who is sat next to him: a little boy with dark, curly hair spilling out from underneath his cap, and a beautiful elf.

For a second, he stops, a little disbelieving that he’s actually here again, then sighs. “You. You’re a terrible influence.”

Taako laughs, disbelieving. “What’d I do this time, homie?”


	2. Berries

Merle Hightower Highchurch, as it turns out, is actually a model patient behind the grumbling. He quickly adapts to using his wrong hand, laughing when he drops food instead of getting frustrated, shrugging off help without being  _ too _ stubborn. When Kravitz is on a break (not that it’s often - majors is packed in the recent spate of poor weather, people slipping on ice and hitting their heads or cars veering off the road) he finds himself drifting back to his ward to visit him. Part of him, though he staunchly refuses to admit it, not even to himself, hopes each time that Taako will be there.

Taako, he learns is a sous-chef in a local café, living with his adopted son Angus, an adorable and precocious little boy, in the same block of flats as his twin sister Lup and her husband Barry, Merle, their friend Magnus and his dogs, and, when he isn’t abroad, a pilot by the name of Davenport who sings opera in his spare time. He’s good, Taako insists, but they could do without the wakeup call at 4am. What Kravitz also learns, is that in the light of day, when he isn’t exhausted and upset and chain-smoking his stress away, Taako isn’t just pretty, he is vibrant. He wears makeup, makes his skin seem to glow in some masterful way Kravitz could never hope to understand, does all sorts of things with his long hair; complicated braids, sleek ponytails, twin buns either side of his head. He has a sly, seductive smile that charms him as much as it screams danger and should make him want to run before he hurts himself, but instead lures him closer.

Kravitz wonders how much is deliberate.

But even without Taako, or Magnus, or one of their other neighbours sitting there, Merle is entertaining to talk to. Miraculously, he doesn’t seem to hold any hard feelings about his arm. Kravitz can’t quite believe it, still beating himself up quietly for it, every time Merle cracks a joke. “ _ No ‘arm done _ !” he says, too cheerful. Kravitz forces a smile.

Everyone copes differently. For Merle, Kravitz learns, it is humour and an unwavering, unshakable faith in Pan. Their conversations are endlessly interesting, and apparently so is Merle’s life. He started out as a nurse, spending as much time healing his fellow faithful spiritually as he helped them in body, joking when he was promoted to a charge nurse that male or not, they should refer to him as a ward sister (which they did). Kravitz guesses his experience in medicine lends him a measure of understanding about the situation. Maybe it’s part of what keeps him calm. Maybe it frustrates him, running through how he might have coped with it himself. Either way, he was fired and jailed after being found growing and selling marijuana. By that time, at least, he was in his fifties, with enough money saved from both legal and illegal sources that getting employment after being in prison wasn’t a major concern. His bigger worry was his wife and kids. After a couple of years, he was released, but by that point Hekuba had already filed for divorce and won the custody of their children.

“I wasn’t too keen on her anyway,” Merle admits, and it doesn’t seem much of a lie. “I dunno. It was mostly for our parents’ sake. I never wanted to settle down, nor did she, but we wanted to keep our folks happy.” He fiddles with fingers on his remaining hand as he speaks, running his thumb over the thick, slightly yellowed fingernails. Merle says that they’re usually too caked in dirt to tell their colour, but in here the nurses make sure to keep them clean alongside the rest of him. Besides, there’s only half as many to deal with now. “Hekuba is a decent woman, but more a friend than a lover. Mookie and Mavis, though?” He sighs heavily and puts his fingers to his mouth, biting his nails. “ _Pan_ , I’m itching for a smoke,” he groans. Kravitz thinks of the box he now has sitting on his kitchen counter at home, his first in years, but shakes himself as Merle continues. “But it was my kids I worried about. Luckily, Hekuba is a decent woman. She doesn’t keep me away from them.”

Kravitz nods, eagerly, and watches the tender pride in Merle’s eyes as he talks about his children: Mavis and her sage intelligence, the way he smiles when he takes out his phone and shows him a picture of her after winning a debate all buckteeth and glasses and straight red bob; Mookie and his unruly mop of curly hair, tangled and dusty as he barrels into a schoolmate in a video of him playing rugby, wearing muddied shorts and a wide, victorious grin. “How come they haven’t visited you yet?” Kravitz asks, frowning.

Merle clams up and shakes his head. “They don’t know. And I don’t want them to. Same for the guys at church, let ‘em…” He trails off momentarily, lost in thought. “Let ‘em see me when I’m a bit better. Not like this.” Merle waves the still-bandaged stump of his right arm a little and shrugs. “Those kids and their mother have spent enough of their lives worrying about me.”

“Might it not help you to see them, though?”

Merle shrugs, then shakes his head - not in denial, but that particular way that says  _ yes, but I hate that you’re right _ . “Yeah. But I have support already. Magnus, Taako, Lup, Barry… Dav.” His voice falters, almost shyly on the last name. Kravitz makes a mental note. “They’re family too. They’re enough without dragging my kids through hell.”

In his own special way, Merle is coping. All Kravitz can bring himself to do, between the busy moments of the day-to-day, is wallow in all-suffusing guilt.

Raven tells him it isn’t his fault, of course she does, she’s practically his mother and she resents when he gets himself upset. Lucretia bemoans cuts, blames politicians, and part of Kravitz does too, part of him wants to scream, he felt so devastatingly alone that night and so desperately tired. But he was still the one who was there, the one who did it. If there was another option, he’d left it too long to find it.

(Lucretia is also remarkably reluctant to discuss Merle himself. He wonders if she, too, is finding her own methods of coping.)

This is, undeniably, the worst something like this has ever hit him. It isn’t even the first time he’s been forced to amputate a limb, and he’s seen death before, but something about the rush of that night, the fogginess that surrounds it still, compared with Merle’s clarity of mind now that he’s recovering, his steadfast resilience, makes it all seem so much  _ worse _ . Kravitz almost,  _ almost _ , regrets befriending him: when he thinks of how much more difficult it will be for him to tend his garden or help with readings volunteering at church, or play rugby and catch with Mookie, it strikes a personal note and it  _ hurts _ .

It comes to a head when he drags himself through the door after another night shift, exhausted, and picks up the packet of cigarettes and the cheap lighter, marching straight back out of the door. He lights up outside, lifts it to his mouth for a deep inhale, hand shaking, and nearly bursts into tears thinking about how much Merle wanted one. (He hates that he seems to be halfway to condoning smoking again. He blames Taako, because Merle is an invalid and not liable for his actions. Taako… Taako he could do with an excuse to be mad at, something to distract from how great he seems.)

The next day, he goes to visit Merle after his shift ends, and finds him sitting with Taako, Angus, and Barry.

“Lup’s at work,” Barry answers Kravitz’s unasked question, with his mouth full of blueberry muffin. There’s a box of them, sitting on the small, rickety bedside table. They look homemade. “She told me to drive these two down, though.”

“These two and the cakes?” Barry smiles sheepishly, and Taako blushes.

“Merle was complaining about the food!” he protests, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back on the hind legs of his chair.

Angus places both hands on the backrest, forcing Taako back to the ground. “Dad! Don’t fall!” he tells him.

“Pssh. Kid, I’m in a hospital. If I do, there’s a nice, good-looking doctor right there to take care of me!” Taako says, sending a wink in Kravitz’s direction. He carefully schools his face, not to betray the way his heart skips at the compliment.

“You know how many cuts they’re making to the NHS, right?” Kravitz asks, dryly. “Besides, I know you now. I wouldn’t be allowed to take care of you.”

“You take care of Merle!”

“I  _ visit  _ Merle. I’m not administering drugs to him or helping with his rehab,” Kravitz says.

Merle chuckles. “Your presence alone is healing, Dr. Mac,” he says.

“ _ Mr.  _ Mac,” Kravitz complains. Merle knows full well that surgeons don’t go by  _ Doctor _ , but if he gains some sort of simple pleasure from pretending not to, he won’t deny him it.

“ _ Ooh _ , sorry, I forget in my old age,” Merle lies, smugly settling himself under the bedsheets.

Taako barks a laugh. “Anyway. You’re just in time, Krav-cakes.” He leans forward incrementally, conspiratorially, into their little circle. Barry stuffs the last chunk of his muffin in his mouth, nodding enthusiastically. Angus claps his hands, rocking onto the balls of his feet with delight. “Davenport gets home tomorrow.”

Merle has been here a week, and Kravitz had wondered at the absence of his last neighbour. He should have realised. “He’s been stateside since before what happened,” Barry explains, wiping his mouth to remove the crumbs. “I think he’s been itching to get back and see him.”

Kravitz mulls this over. He’s noticed a spark in Merle’s eye when this Davenport is mentioned, a warmth to his already ruddy cheeks. His face lights up at the news, the same way it does when he talks about his children. After a moment, he fakes a cough. “Well. It’ll be good to see the old fella,” he says, deliberately calm. A glance around at the others’ faces tells him he isn’t the only one not buying it.

“Mhm.  _ Mhm _ .” Taako taps his fingers on his bicep. Angus adjusts his glasses, pushing the square frames back up his nose. Barry reaches for another muffin, already looking bored. Kravitz knows this is not the first time they’ve had this conversation. “Whatever. He said he’ll be here around lunch time. He’s bringing back Red Vines and sour Skittles. The proper ones, the ones that’ve got the sour sugar on.” He pretends to check for dirt under his fingernails, even though they’re painted a soft pink that would hide it anyway.

“ _ Oooh _ , good, I love those,” Merle says, seeming genuinely kind of delighted.

“Like you’re excited for the  _ candy _ ,” Taako scoffs.

Merle smiles, something devious and downright dangerous. “Hey, speaking of sweet stuff, Kravitz!” He turns to him, and Taako’s eyes widen. “Come try one of Taako’s muffins!”

“He doesn’t wanna try my crappy baking, Merle,” Taako tries to interject, but Barry has already passed him one.

Gingerly, Kravitz peels back the thin paper wrapping, slightly sticky in the places where the grease from the butter has transferred over. Taako looks half-panicked and fully nervous, staring him down as he takes a bite. It’s  _ beautiful _ . The blueberries are still fresh and juicy, bursting between his teeth, and the cake is moist and springy. “It’s delicious,” he enthuses.

Taako breathes a visible sign of relief. “Thank you my dude,” he says, almost convincingly cheery.

Angus jumps up beside him, beaming. “Dad’s such a good cook, isn’t he? I know that you already knew he was a chef but we all keep telling him he should open up his own bakery or something because he’s good enough, even though he keeps denying it.” He’s faking his obliviousness to Taako’s slight discomfort, but the nods of the adults around him make it seem less inappropriate to agree.

“Ango, I-” he begins to say, but Kravitz coughs politely and cuts him off.

“Taako, you could really have something here.”

He flushes bright pink, up to his ears. “Uh. Thank you. I don’t think I’m ready to run anything on my own, though…” His voice trails off, a little lost.

“Well, if you ever do, you’ll have at least one customer,” Kravitz promises.

Barry nudges him and grins. “See, Taako?”

Taako smiles, ruffles Angus’ hair and leans down to kiss him on the top of his head. “Brat,” he whispers into the dark curls. Angus giggles. Kravitz pats him on the shoulder, feeling a sudden surge of affection watching them.

“Ignore him, Angus, you’re a good kid,” he tells him, and Angus preens under the attention. Taako looks up at him with surprise and a little bit of wonder. Kravitz meets his eyes, and something unspoken passes between them, like an electric jolt.

“Heh. Don’t undermine my parental authority,” Taako jokes, smiling slyly, hugging Angus a little closer with faux possessiveness. The boy laughs, throwing his arms around his father, then pulling away to talk to Merle, who is a little more abrasive with him than Kravitz might have expected, a little harder on him than it seems like he would be with his own children, but there’s still an underlying affection there, between the teasing jabs. He’s the playfully mean grandfather figure, and Kravitz is certain under any other circumstance he’d be plying him with sweets the moment Taako’s back is turned.

Barry shuffles past them all, towards the exit. “Okay. I have work in half an hour, are you two okay getting the bus back?” he asks, motioning towards Taako and Angus.

“‘Course,” Taako chimes. “I’ve got change.”

“See you later then, guys.” Kravitz doesn’t miss him taking the end of his muffin with him as he waves with his other hand.

“Did Barry give you a lift here then?” Kravitz asks.

“Yeah. I never learned to drive. Never had the money and the need at the same time.” Taako picks at the paint on his fingernails where it’s beginning to chip. “Magnus drives, he brought me following the ambulance when we were bringing Merle, Barry does, Lup’s learning, Davenport  _ obviously  _ does, Merle rides his bike everywhere.”

Kravitz gives Merle a look. “Pushbike or motorbike?”

“Either!” Merle chirps. “I was quite a fierce competitor on the motorcycle racing circuits in the 80s,” he says.

“He lost his license for riding it drunk and hitting a lamppost three years back,” Taako says. Merle gives him a sheepish look, which Kravitz returns with a collusive wink.

“Why don’t you pick it up?” Kravitz asks.

“No time. No funds.” Taako shrugs, seemingly unbothered.

There’s a pause for a moment, then Kravitz takes a deep breath to make an offer that shouldn’t feel as significant as it does. “Want a lift home?” he asks, casually.

“You sure? I might live in the complete opposite direction.”

Kravitz shakes his head. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Taako looks skeptical, but Angus gives him a bright, wide grin. “Do you have a nice car? Is it a cool one?”

“It’s nothing special. Gets the job done,” Kravitz admits. “But more comfortable than the bus.”

Angus nods, understanding, and Taako bites his lip. “Uh. If you’re sure then. I mean, we’re probably gonna leave soon.”

“That’s fine. My shift just ended.”

“Are you guys off then? Leaving this poor old man by his lonesome?” Merle complains.

“Hell yeah. Who’d wanna stick around you?” Taako teases. “See ya buddy.” He pats the top of Merle’s left hand a little hesitantly, and gives him a smile, then places an arm round Angus’ shoulders and starts to steer him towards the exit. “Come on, bubbaleh.”

“Bye, Mr. Highchurch, sir!” Angus calls over his shoulder.

Kravitz laughs to himself quietly for a moment, and Merle catches his eye.

“Hey. Kravitz.”

He furrows his brows, confused, and turns to him. “Merle?”

“If you’re gonna… Start something up with Taako. I won’t, I won’t give you the shovel talk, he’s a grown man, he can take care of himself, but… If things don’t work out, make sure Angus isn’t caught in the crossfire.” Merle reaches over, scratches his right shoulder, looking down into his lap. He has a cheap paperback copy of some sci-fi novel from the late 70s open, with a leather bookmark that’s probably almost as old tucked between the pages, but he isn’t reading it right now.

Kravitz wants to immediately leap to denying everything,  _ there’s nothing between Taako and I, what are you talking about? _ ,  _ how could I hurt Angus? What could possibly happen? _ , but neither of them are stupid. Behind the breezy, apathetic facade, Merle has a sharp social intelligence. “I promise. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“Good.” Merle relaxes, looking back up at him. “Get home safe, Krav.”

“Thanks,” Kravitz replies, with a small smile, but it reaches his eyes.

“Better go before they get away.”

With one last wave, Kravitz turns away, leaving Merle to reach again for his book, breaking into a light jog to catch up to Angus and Taako. “Whereabouts do you actually live then?” he asks.

“By the Pannite church. That’s why Merle moved into our block, it’s in walking distance,” Taako says. He’s carrying an umbrella under his arm. Angus has a book bag slung across his chest.

“That isn’t too far out,” Kravitz says. It’s only about ten minutes out of his way, in the same direction at least. He leads them both to his car, and it really isn’t anything special: a compact, two-door black Honda, with no bells or whistles except for bluetooth connectivity to the radio. “If you want any music in particular, it’s probably better if you play it,” he admits, when Taako lets the passenger seat back up after letting Angus into the back and slides in to sit beside him.

“Let me guess, you listen exclusively to Mozart or some other boring, depressing classical shit?” Taako jokes.

“Uh. Not exclusively. I also have a secret love for 80s glam rock,” he replies.

“Uh. Really?” Taako sounds dubious.

“Yeah.” Kravitz laughs, turning on the engine. “But I’ll listen to anything. Your phone should be able to connect.” He leans over to show him how to work it, but Taako has a fairly good handle on it. The next minute, Carly Rae Jepson is blasting from the speakers. Kravitz cringes involuntarily and Taako bursts into fits of giggles.

“Not a fan?”

“Not my cup of tea really, no,” he says. “But I did say play what you like.” He backs out of his parking space to the sound of  _ Call Me Maybe _ , and laughs despite himself when Taako starts singing along, belting the lyrics. He’s out of tune, and his voice sounds strangled when he hits the high notes, but Angus joins in, and eventually Kravitz can’t resist and joins in the parts that he knows. They drive along, past the big Tesco and the high street, and only stop singing for Taako to give him directions.

Their block of flats is actually very nice. There’s a small garden, obviously tended lovingly by Merle, and balconies at each level. “I’m on the first floor. Wanna come up?” Taako asks.

Kravitz is tired. It’s not as bad as last week, but it’s still a long day. Part of him tells him to go home and sleep, but the traitorous part that enjoys Taako’s company so much eggs him on. “Sure,” he says.

Taako lets Angus out of the back, and the boy scampers out, stretching his arms and bouncing on the spot while Kravitz buys a ticket from the meter. He’s bright, brilliant even, but yet to learn patience. It’s adorable. When he comes back, Taako leads them both inside. The entranceway is nice and bright, clean cream-coloured walls and plenty of potted plants. They climb the stairs to Taako’s front door. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.”

It isn’t too bad. There are a few toys strewn about, presumably belonging to Angus, a pile of loose papers stacked up on the coffee table, and dishes sitting in the sink, but it’s clean. “Coffee?” Taako asks, walking up to the kettle.

“I’m probably going to sleep when I get home, so I shouldn’t, but thank you.” Kravitz sits on the sofa. It’s old, a patch of the armrest worn a little threadbare, but soft.

“Tea then? I’ve got, like, strawberry and kiwi and crap if you want that.”

“That sounds excellent, actually.”

Taako shoots him a wink. “I pride myself on being an excellent host.”

“Noted,” Kravitz says with a chuckle.

“I keep telling him to go on  _ Fantasy Come Dine With Me _ ,” Angus says, exasperated, seating himself neatly beside him.

“Oh yeah?” Kravitz leans closer. “I bet he’d do rather well, if his usual stuff is to the standard of those cakes.”

“Exactly, sir! It’d be great! And there’s always that bit where they go and sneak around the other contestants’ house to find their secrets and I  _ bet  _ it’d be super fun to do some detective work in there!” he gushes.

“Angus wants to be a detective, don’t you, champ?” Taako explains from behind the counter, to the tune of teaspoons clinking against the sides of mugs. The sweet smell of strawberries filters over.

“Yep! Have you ever read the  _ Caleb Cleveland: Kid Cop _ novels?” Angus asks. Kravitz shakes his head, and gestures for him to go on, which he does with gusto. “They’re really, really good, and kind of my inspiration. He’s only a kid, like me, but he’s super good at solving mysteries and he always cracks the case! For now there’s not an awful lot for me to investigate, but I’m gonna keep practicing for when I’m older and I can become a real sleuth.”

“Hell yeah!” Taako cheers, bringing over a mug for Kravitz and a glass of orange juice for Angus. He places them on mismatched mats, one woven from plasticky artificial bamboo, the other obviously stolen from outside a pub. “That’s my boy!”

Kravitz picks up the mug as Taako runs to grab his own drink (a  _ very _ milky coffee). It’s too hot to drink quite yet, but the smell is even stronger and sweeter from up close. He sits in the chair beside them, hugging one knee close to his chest, blowing into his cup to cool it. After a minute, Taako chugs the whole thing. Kravitz gives him an impressed look.

“Okay, so maybe I really needed some caffeine-,” Taako says, jumping onto the defensive. Angus sips his orange juice politely.

“I can't say I don't know the feeling,” Kravitz replies, laughing. He takes a sip of his tea, savouring the taste.

Taako looks sympathetic, tapping his fingers on the outside of the empty mug.

Kravitz looks around the space again, sizing it up. “So this is where you all live,” he muses. “So much trouble in one building.”

“ _ Hell yeah _ , you know it.” Taako laughs breezily and Angus puts down his orange juice, practically crawling over into Kravitz’s lap to get closer.

“Mr. Mac, sir, will you come over again some time and talk with me some more about Caleb Cleveland?” he asks, all wide eyed sincerity. “Some of the murders… I want to know if they're accurately depicted, and you're a surgeon, so you know about the human body!”

Kravitz is surprised first, then glances at Taako for permission. The elf flushes and shrugs. “Hey, you've done a lot for us. You're welcome anytime.”

The smile that spreads over Kravitz’s face is entirely real, and he nods once. With each quiet sip of his tea, though, it becomes endlessly apparent how tired he really is. When he finishes it and yawns, loudly, Taako grabs him by the elbow, pulls him out of the chair and leads him to the door. “ _ Uh uh _ , I don't care if you fall asleep in my chair but you will when you wake up. Get home before you get so tired you crash your car.”

Kravitz stumbles on the top step, surprised, then chuckles. Taako smirks down at him from his doorstep. “I'll see you then,” Kravitz says.

“Count on it, handsome.” And Taako closes the door in his face.

It's nine in the morning when he finally drags himself through his front door and into bed, barely mustering the effort to strip off his clothes. The sun leaks bright light through the gaps in his blinds, but that doesn't matter. In moments he is fast asleep.

He dreams of smoke and strawberries and a cluttered flat filled with the laughter of an adorable little boy and his beautiful father.


	3. Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot and Davenchurch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a while between finishing up exams, starting a new job, and fighting off writer's block with currently over 7000 words of d&d character backstory, sorry. should be back on track shortly.

Davenport is a tiny slip of a man: barely three feet tall, limbs skinny like twigs, with thick, flame-red hair and a well kept moustache the same colour. He isn't much anything like how Kravitz imagined him - nobody mentioned he was a  _ gnome _ , where he had been imagining some sort of suave, tall gentleman, jetting between different parts of the world, lying on the beach after a flight with a cocktail with a little umbrella in it. Instead, he is thoroughly kind and down to earth, and obviously, completely, utterly in love with Merle.

The moment he steps through the doors to the ward, Davenport breaks into a run, scooting to a half by the foot of Merle's bed. “ _ Merle _ , what the hell happened? I've been worrying myself sick for a  _ week _ over you!”

Merle’s head snaps up from his book, today a mystery-romance novel. On the cover, a tall, dark-haired, bespectacled man traces his fingers over the scar across his lover’s nose while a building explodes behind them. “Davvy!” he cries, dropping it into his lap and leaning forward. He starts moving as if to get out of bed, and both Kravitz and Davenport rush to stop him. Davenport gets there first, quick despite his short legs, and goes to hug Merle from the side of his bed.

“Don’t get out of bed! You need to rest!” Davenport insists after a moment, releasing him.

Merle slumps back against the pillows he has stacked against the headboard and groans. “I’ve been resting for a  _ week _ ,” he complains, maudlin.

“Good work. Keep at it,” Kravitz tells him with a quirk of his lips. Merle mumbles something inaudibly under his breath while Davenport visibly jitters.

“So? Are you going to explain?” he asks.

With a heavy sigh, Merle closes his eyes. “I was doing some of my late night gardening, you know, when I can’t sleep? Some shady looking guy runs past and I yell at him, cause he’s making a fuck-tonne of noise, then the fuck throws a plastic bottle at me and the fuckin’ thing  _ explodes _ .”

“It was a  _ bomb _ ?” Davenport yells. A couple of other patients nearby look up in alarm. Kravitz shakes his head and tries to smile reassuringly. They seem to relax a little, assured there’s no threat. Merle shrugs helplessly.

“Look, Cap’nport, I passed out after that and woke up down an arm.” Davenport recoils in horror as he finally notices the stump where Merle’s right hand used to be, and clasps his hands over his mouth.

“Oh my  _ Gods _ , Merle!” he cries.

“Davvy.  _ Davvy _ , I’m fine, Dav, I’ll be okay,” Merle waves his left hand and the stump up and down, trying for a calming motion, but Davenport’s wide green eyes follow the stump with mounting panic.

“Merle, you don’t have an  _ arm _ !” He can’t seem to comprehend Merle’s calmness, the way he handles the situation with such ease.

“Well, yeah, and maybe I’m a little pissed about that, but I’ll get a cool prosthetic that I can take it off for Halloween costumes and Comic Con! I’m gonna win  _ every costume competition I enter _ !” he jokes. “I can get a fuckin’  _ hook _ and a curly wig! You can be the crocodile! Mookie and Mavis can be Peter Pan and Wendy!”

“ _ Merle _ !” Davenport is half-hysterical at this point.

“Kravitz is taking real good care of me!” And the attention turns to him. Kravitz nods, a little unsure of himself. He’s certainly trying his  _ best _ to.

Davenport coughs, shifting from one foot to the other. “Thank you. Kravitz? Doctor…?”

“Ah, I’m a surgeon. Mr Mac. But call me Kravitz, I’m here on break, not in my capacity as a medical professional,” he says, sounding every inch the medical professional. Davenport gives him a dubious look.

“If you say so.” He sighs and rubs at his temples, then turns back to Merle. “How are Mookie and Mavis taking it? Hecuba?” Merle stiffens, avoiding his gaze, and Davenport immediately understands what it means. “You haven’t  _ told them _ ?” he shouts.

“Please, Davenport, you’re disturbing the other patients,” Kravitz says, trying to intervene, half-extending a hand in a calming motion. Davenport bats away his arm and glares furiously up at him. For standing not much more than three feet tall, the man is  _ intimidating _ .

“Merle needs to let them know. Hecuba will be  _ furious _ , absolutely furious when she finds out.” He purses his lips in displeasure, and his ginger moustache quivers almost humourously with it.

Merle throws his head back against the pillow, beleaguered. “She’s my ex-wife!” he groans. “Isn’t that like, her  _ job _ or something?”

“No! She doesn’t  _ have _ to worry about you! Especially after how it ended! You should count yourself lucky she cares about you at all!” There’s a hard truth to his words, and Kravitz shifts uncomfortably onto his other foot. It feels voyeuristic to watch them, but he’s  _ curious _ . Merle seems the kind of man to have been through countless close shaves, and yet the man his friends tease him about having fallen for doesn’t seem the type to take a risk at all. Maybe Merle wants that safety, maybe Davenport is enamoured with the danger that seems to sprout up around him like a weed. Whatever draws them together, Kravitz wants to know.

Merle’s head lowers, shamed, and Davenport puts a reassuring hand on his nearest shoulder, smiling weakly. “We all care about you, Merle. I’m just so… So glad that you’re okay.” His gaze and his words are sincere, and Merle reaches up to place his remaining hand over Davenport’s. His eyes are as soft as when he’s talking about his children. The two share a gentle smile, before Merle breaks the moment.

He pulls his hand back to reach for the book discarded in his lap and holds it aloft proudly. “So? Read it yet?”

Davenport sighs, reaching for the chair tucked away next to Merle’s bedside table. “I didn’t get the chance. Not all of us have the time for reading you do, especially now.” He grunts as he seats himself in the chair. His legs are just too short that he swings them back and forth a few inches above the floor as he talks. Davenport uses his hands, gesticulating in broad motions, tapping a finger against his lips when he pauses for thought.

Kravitz tunes out the conversation and starts to back away, planning to leave them to it, but Merle catches his eye before he can escape and waves him back over with a jerk of the head, raising the bushes he calls eyebrows so that they’re practically indistinguishable from his hairline. “Doctor Mac,” he begins, and Kravitz groans.

“It’s  _ Mr.  _ Mac, Merle,” he insists, knowing it’ll make no difference, but Merle talks over him.

“You should come and visit me again after your shift,” he says, inspecting his fingernails with a suspicious amount of attention.

“Why?” Kravitz folds his arms over his chest. “What’s happening after my shift?”

“Oh,  _ nothing _ , just an old man, alone, needing company.” Davenport looks confused, opening his mouth to speak, but a sharp glare from Merle has him snapping his jaw shut.

“Right.” Whatever it is, Kravitz needs to get back to work and Merle knows it. He’s not talking any time soon. “See you later then, Merle. Davenport.”

He sweeps away as dramatically as he can, fanning the white skirt of his coat out behind him as he turns. It probably looks more silly than it does in his head, but it’ll do. A couple of minutes later, he’s back in the theatre, prepping for the next operation. Lucretia is sterilising instruments across the room, humming quietly to herself. It’s a pretty song, haunting. “What are you singing?” he asks. 

She starts, pivoting to face him. “Nothing. A lullaby,” she says. Her white hair is wound up tightly in a bun on top of her head, except for a loose curl that’s fallen down into her face. It’s a shred of discomposure, that like her singing, is unlike her.

Kravitz frowns. “If you say so.” He doesn’t want to press her; Lucretia is fiercely private and resents it. That was something the staff had learned early after she started. She tucks the strand of hair behind her ear and clamps her lips together, turning back to the instruments. He can’t imagine why she might be so defensive over a song, though.

“Do you mind if I put the radio on?” he asks, suddenly missing the background noise - all he can hear is the bustling of the hospital through the doors and the squeak of metal being cleaned. 

“Go ahead.” She shrugs, pulling off her gloves. Kravitz reaches over the paperwork he’s flipping through (patient charts, operation procedures, emergency protocols) to the small radio on the top shelf and tunes into the local jazz station. It’s a fairly quiet song, a little boring to be honest, and when he turns around again, Lucretia is pulling a face. “How old are you?” she asks, half-laughing.

“Thirty three.” His voice rises at the end, as if he’s asking a question.

“Are you  _ sure _ you aren’t secretly a hundred in a thirty-three year old body?” Lucretia’s voice is usually even and low, but now it sounds a touch higher and lighter. Upbeat.

“What’s everyone got against my taste in music all of a sudden?” Kravitz complains with a chuckle.

“It’s fine, just old-fashioned,” she says, with a slight quirk of her lips. Kravitz hasn’t spoken with her much before, has never had the chance to get to know her that well. Merle’s operation was probably the first time they’d worked together in the three years since she finished her doctorate and started here. She seemed so uptight and formal, and suddenly he feels bad for judging her. He tucks the folder under his arm, makes certain the room is ready, then opens the door for her.

“Thank you, Kravitz,” she says, stepping through.

“No problem, Lucretia.”

The surgery goes fine; the patient is tucked away on a nice, clean ward to recover, all neatly stitched up and put back together. In the operating theatre, scalpel in hand, Lucretia is a machine: well-oiled, efficient, systematic and utterly unflappable. Any of the doubts Kravitz harbours, the fear that he’ll make a mistake that might cost life or limb, seem to Lucretia like water rolling off a duck’s back. He admires that. He wishes he could be that unshaken. He wonders how she does it.

Lucretia washes her hands and gives him a polite, formal smile. “Shall I write up the paperwork for Raven?” she asks.

Kravitz shrugs. “I can do it, it’s not a bother.”

“Don’t you have to prep for that aasimar’s stomach surgery?” she says, frowning.

“It’s nothing that’ll take too long.”

She shrugs and hands him the necessary notes. “In that case, I’ll be off home.”

“What do you do in your free time, Lucretia?” Kravitz asks, sensing an opportunity to find out more.

Lucretia scratches absently behind her ear. “I, uh… I paint.” It sounds like she’s admitting a crime, something shameful.

“That’s great!” Kravitz replies, trying to reassure her. “How long have you done it?”

“Oh, since I was little. I’ve always liked art.”

Kravitz nods. “It’s just that you have a way with words. I’d expect you to write or something instead. A woman of many talents.”

Lucretia laughs, a little unsettled. “I wouldn’t say that. But thank you. See you tomorrow, Kravitz.”

He waves her off as she glides away, then leans back against the wall for a moment, closing his eyes and sighing. Lucretia is one mystery he won’t solve today. That aasimar’s gut problems is one he can. He slogs back through the door into the prep room and finishes filling out the paperwork for the surgery he’s just done, readying himself for the next. By the end of his shift, he’s ready to go home, and then he remembers that Merle asked him to visit again.

Davenport is still there, although it’s hours later now, but Merle has put his book to the side. Instead, they’ve spread a deck of tarot cards between them, playing some complicated game Kravitz has never seen before in a comfortable silence. It’s almost domestic, the sort of thing they should be doing spread out on the carpet in front of a fire, with glasses of wine and a couple of cigars. It seems wrong in the clinical white space of the hospital. Kravitz doesn’t mind it - he’s used to it. To many it’s cold and oppressive. At least these two are making the most of it.

They’re so caught up in their game he has to cough to catch their attention. Merle blinks a couple of times at first, as if he’s been pulled from a trance, then starts to attention as he sees him. “Hey, Kravitz!” he says. Davenport looks up too, laying down his hand of cards.

“What are you playing?” Kravitz asks.

“Yooker,” Merle replies.

“...Euchre? With  _ tarot cards _ ?” He’s as baffled as he is amused.

“Nah.  _ Y-o-o-k-e-r _ . Yooker. I invented it.” He sounds proud, and Kravitz lets out a confused burst of laughter.

Davenport sighs, stretching his arms out. He wiggles his fingers, and it’s hilariously and endearingly  _ gnomish _ . “It’s pretty fun,” he admits.

“So what was it you wanted, Merle?” Kravitz fiddles with the lapel of his coat as he speaks.

His eyes widen in surprise, and he chuckles as if he’s been unsettled, rubbing at the back of his neck with an uneasy grin. “Oh, uh. Just to… see how you were getting on, you know?”

Kravitz gives him a blank stare. “What did you really want?”

He’s answered by the click of heels on the floor behind him. When he turns, it’s Taako, standing in stilettoes, a plastic back hooked over his right arm and holding an umbrella, still wet with rain, in the other. “Uh. Hey, babes,” he says, a little awkwardly. He looks as surprised as Kravitz is.

“Hey, Taako! T-bone! Did ya bring the stuff I asked for?” Merle calls, glancing between him and Kravitz a touch too conspicuously. Taako furrows his eyebrows but nods, sliding the bag off his arm and placing it beside his bed.

“You know you can’t drink in hospital? Like, you transferred me the money, so I bought it for you, but Kravitz is definitely going to take that off you, like, immediately.” Taako gives him a long, confused look.

Merle just grins. “Oh no! I should have thought of that!” His tone of voice is stilted and obvious, and Davenport shakes his head, pressing his face into his hands with something like despair. “Looks like you boys will just have to take it instead!”

Taako’s mouth opens and shuts like a gaping fish, before he finally seems to catch himself. Kravitz stays silent. “Did you… Make me buy wine and cheese for me and  _ Kravitz _ to go on a date?” he asks.

“Nope. I bought it for me and Davenport! But what a shame, can’t let it go to waste.”

“Merle.  _ Merle _ . What the fuck?” Taako steps closer to Merle’s bed, cocks his hip and lets out a short gasp of restrained laughter. Kravitz can’t really help admiring the long, lean, lines of his legs in heels, the bronze glow of his skin still apparent, even through the sheer black tights he’s wearing under his pencil skirt. They’re nice legs, he thinks. The skirt’s not bad either: it hugs the thin line of his hips and the curves of his ass perfectly.

Merle coughs, and Kravitz’s attention returns to him. “Look. You two have. A  _ thing _ . And I’m not gonna let you miss out on it. If you two want, take the wine and the cheese and go enjoy it. Do it for me.”

“Taako and I should go on a date you paid for and aren’t involved with… for you?” Kravitz checks, bewildered.

“Let an old man interfere in other people’s lives. It’s what we’re good at.” He says the last part in a surprisingly chipper tone, and leans across himself to turn a card over onto the pile facing up between him and Davenport. It’s the Two of Cups, and Kravitz racks his brain for the meaning. Raven’s girlfriend Istus liked telling fortunes, and she’d picked up some things. Occasionally, he would catch her taking tarot readings in the break room, spreading the gold-leafed cards across the table and muttering to herself for a moment before interpreting them. This deck isn’t nearly so fancy, but he thinks he can recall the meanings. Prosperous, loving relationships.  _ The start of a new love affair _ .

He wants to dismiss it offhand - it wasn’t intended as part of a reading and it wasn’t even him that drew the card, but it seems to stare at him from its place on the bed, urging him to give this a try. Taako seems ambivalent, tapping his pale pink fingernails against the wooden handle of his umbrella. Kravitz decides not to mess with fate. He’s only met Istus twice, once at a staff party with a flute of champagne in her hand, her wheat-gold hair knotted up into a bun, and again dropping off Raven’s bag on the way home after she forgot it at the hospital. Her hair was down then, when she answered the door, falling in loose waves around her shoulders, standing barefoot in a dressing gown with a ball of wool in one hand, and two needles and the start of a scarf in the other. He could imagine those strands of pale blue wool wrapping around him now, tugging him in, telling him to just  _ go with it  _ and let himself be pulled along for the ride _. _

“I can’t seen any harm it in,” he says.

Taako shifts his stance and bends down to pick up the bag. “Whatever you say, homie,” he tells Merle with a shrug. “I’m gonna go get drunk with a handsome guy in a park or some shit then. Have fun playing fuckin’...  _ Card chess _ . Or whatever.” Kravitz pretends not to notice him calling him handsome,  _ again _ , and following in a half-daze as Taako leads him towards the exit of the ward.

Not long after they leave, Davenport gets up from his seat beside Merle and stretches his arms above his head. “Merle. I think I really need to sleep,” he says, bleary-eyed.

“Jetlag?” Merle asks, sympathetic. Davenport nods with a grimace. “It’s fine. I understand. Sleep tight, Cap’n.”

Davenport scoffs, running his fingers back through his thick ginger hair. “You know I hate when you call me that.”

Merle smiles, sweet and subtle, nothing like his usual boisterous, beaming grins. “Nah. You just prefer Davvy.”

The sheepish but pleased expression on Davenport’s face tells him he’s right, and Merle preens for a moment, then reaches out to place his hand over his. “See ya’ tomorrow, buddy.”

Davenport goes to move back, but hovers for a moment, conflicted. With a sudden burst of bravery, he leans forward to place a short, chaste kiss at Merle’s temple. “See you.” Then he pulls back and scampers away.

Merle watches him leave, feeling a tugging in his chest as he goes, as if Davenport is taking his heart with him. He hates the cliché, but it fits - better than he’d like, if he were being rational instead of throwing himself into things head-first. But when has Merle Hightower Highchurch ever done the rational thing?

For the next few, quiet hours before lights out, he turns his attention back to his book. When he falls asleep, humming a lullaby to himself, still sitting upright in the hospital bed, he forgets to put away the tarot cards. In his sleep, he shifts, turning onto his side, and knocks them onto the floor in a flurry.

A dark figure with a shock of white hair creeps in at the start of her shift to check on him, and picks up the cards, stacking them neatly beside his bed. At the top of the pile, face-up, lies the Six of Cups. If Kravitz were there, he might have been confused at the significance, but would have told anyone who asked its meaning: the reemergence of old relationships and the return of old friends.

Lucretia has no time for silly superstition. She doesn’t know this.


	4. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinking, talking, and starting to fall hard and fast in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not dead! but comic con + new job + god awful case of writer's block = no updates. sorry guys! i think i'm mostly outta my funk now though. i hope 4000 words of pure taakitz makes up for it?

Taako looks as if he’d dressed for this date rather than been dragged into it unawares. His surprise on the ward wasn’t a lie, Kravitz can tell that much, but he looks incredible: pale pink billowy blouse tucked neatly into the high-waisted pencil skirt, with those tights and those heels that made his legs look so  _ good _ .

Kravitz leads him out to the car park, and Taako slides naturally into his car, flipping his long, blond braid over his shoulder. He runs his fingers through the loose hair at the bottom, beneath the hair tie and hums. “Where we heading?” he asks. “Ango’s still at school if you wanna chill at my place again.”

He feels a little guilty for intruding, although if Taako’s offering, he probably doesn’t mind. They could eat outside, but it’s humid and a little chilly, and Taako’s shirt doesn’t exactly look warm. “We can go to mine, if you’d like?” Kravitz offers.

“I mean. Sure, I guess,” Taako says, sounding a little surprised. “I’d love to.”

The route is familiar, and this time Kravitz takes the liberty of picking the music himself. Taako doesn’t complain at it, old fashioned or not. “You’re dressed very nicely,” Kravitz notes, turning a corner, past the corner shop and the pharmacy. 

“Oh, yeah. I, uh, had a job interview, actually.” Taako tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “Gotta look the part.”

“A job interview?” Kravitz hopes he sounds curious instead of nosey. 

“Yeah, uh, at the, um… You know the Italian place down by the big Fantasy Costco?” Kravitz nods, glancing across to look at him as they pull up to the traffic lights. “There.”

“Isn’t that a really fantastic restaurant?” Kravitz asks. He remembers, vaguely, reading something about it winning an award in the local paper.

Taako shrugs and then nods. “Well, yeah. They’re looking for a new chef.”

“Congratulations, Taako. I hope you get it,” he says, pulling up outside his house. He pulls his parking permit from the glove drawer and places it in the window, then gets out, rifling through his pocket for his keys.

It takes Taako a moment longer, pausing, sitting in the car, staring at the now slightly stale tree-shaped air freshener hanging beneath his rear-view mirror, as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Then he steps out, shaking his head, pulling out the hair tie. Kravitz keys in the password to get in, opening the door for him to get through. Taako strolls past with a wink, running his fingers through his hair to loosen the plait.

He’s only on the first floor, one flight of stairs up, but Kravitz goes first. “I don’t like crossing on the stairs and I need to unlock the front door,” he says.

Taako snorts. “Didn’t peg you for being the superstitious type.”

Kravitz avoids eye contact, a little embarrassed. “My mother always greeted magpies and never opened umbrellas indoors. It kind of got passed down.”

“Cute,” Taako tells him, sounding almost detached. His eyes are warm, though

“Raven’s superstitious, too,” he says, opening the door and stepping through, holding it open for him.

“Great manners, i appreciate that,” Taako says. “Who’s Raven?”

“Oh. My boss.” 

Taako nods, walking in. His eyes land immediately on the packet of cigarettes Kravitz left out on the counter. “Hey. Thought ya’ didn’t smoke.”

Kravitz cringes visibly, and gives a slightly nervous laugh. “I told you, you’re a bad influence.”

Faking shock, Taako edges past into the living room and slumps into a sofa dramatically, as if he’d fainted. “So  _ cruel _ ,” he shrieks. Kravitz follows him, smiling, but when Taako notices him watching, he immediately shifts, changing his position to one far more inviting, less sprawled out. He raises an arm above his head, angles his legs just enough that his skirt begins to ride up, showing off another flash of his thigh. “ _ Mmm _ . Draw me like one of your French girls, Krav,” he says, preening.

Taako is like a peacock: bright and colourful and constantly showing off. It almost makes him feel petty and shallow that the performance is working on him. Kravitz picks up a cushion, placing the bag of cheese and wine on the side, and throws it directly at Taako’s head. He’s slow enough that he can catch it, holding it up in the air above him to shield from any follow-up missiles, and they laugh. Taako pulls the pillow back down, clutching it to his chest, grinning dopily. No, it isn’t just shallow: he looks just as lovely curled up with that pillow as he does trying to seduce him.

“Shall we have some of this?” Kravitz asks, gesturing to the bag.

Taako sits up, pushing his hair out of his face. “Sure.”

It’s a decent cheese and a decent wine, not overly expensive but not terribly cheap either. Kravitz uncorks the bottle and leaves it open to breathe, cutting the cheese to plate it up while he waits. Meanwhile, Taako is on the edge of the sofa seat, looking about his flat with curiosity. One day, Kravitz would like a nice, open-plan one, with eggshell white walls and soft lighting, clean and minimalistic. For now, his space is closed off. The narrow corridor at the entrance leads into the living space, divided off from the cramped kitchen, a set of counters with barely more than a foot of space between them and the wall, a cooker that could do with replacing and a small table crammed into the corner by a plug socket. He’d left his laptop plugged in last night, beside an empty coffee mug and the half-empty strip of paracetamols he usually kept tucked at the back of his cupboard, except staring at the bright screen too late had given him a headache. 

Taako stands and makes his way over to lean against the doorframe, looking into the kitchen. Kravitz gestures to the plated up cheese. “I bet you’re a good enough cook that you could change this from a cheeseboard to a work of art or something,” he says, teasing.

Taako shifts, uncomfortable, and shrugs. “Cheese is cheese.”

Kravitz frowns. “You’re a chef, though.”

He blows a strand of loose hair from across his face, trilling his lips. “Not  _ yet _ . Maybe not at all. I haven’t been a proper chef in a long while.”

“A sous-chef counts,” Kravitz tries to reassure him. “And I can make a decent sandwich, but that’s the extent of my cooking ability. You’ve got me beat, whatever happens.”

Taako still looks uncertain. “It’s not that, handsome. Thanks, though.”

Kravitz knows not to push it further and holds out the cheeseboard again. “Living room?”

“Hell yeah.”

They sit beside each other on the sofa, Taako setting down the cheese on the low, slightly battered old coffee table Kravitz rescued from a charity shop on the cheap and Kravitz pouring two glasses of wine. Taako reaches for a piece of havarti, nibbling at the edge of it. Kravitz sips his wine. It isn't  _ fantastic _ , but it's very drinkable. They have a moment of comfortable silence, then Kravitz takes a slice of apricot stilton and Taako breaks it.

“So, how long ya’ been at the hospital for?”

“Oh Gods, years. I did my residency there and Raven liked me enough to ask me to stay on.”

“What made ya’ wanna be a surgeon?” Taako asks over the rim of his glass, taking a sip. He hums appreciatively at the taste.

“Oh. The usual, you know. I was good in school, it pays well enough and I wanted to help people.” He shrugs, a little awkwardly, and finishes his piece of cheese. 

Taako smiles. “Cute.”

Kravitz flushes, lending a reddish tinge to his dark skin. “Thank you. What drew you to being a chef?”

“Hey, uh. I suddenly don’t wanna talk about work anymore,” Taako splutters, unsubtle, and goes immediately to take another long drink from his glass. Kravitz says nothing, and follows suit

“Another glass then?” he offers. Taako nods, visibly relieved. He feels a little guilty for it, but his evasiveness only fuels Kravitz’s curiosity. He’s a doctor, he knows well enough when not to push something, but he hopes, one day, he’ll trust him. 

“Your place is pretty nice,” Taako says. “Compared to mine at least - cramped enough for one person, never mind two.”

“It was  _ fine _ , Taako,” Kravitz tries to assure him. His apartment only has one bedroom, but the living area and kitchen are slightly bigger than Taako’s. He never bothered to upgrade, even though he wouldn’t mind a nicer space. The expense and effort seemed too much, unnecessary for just one person. He sends a bit of money to a savings account every month, just in case he changes his mind. “And Angus is such a good kid.”

Immediately, Taako perks up, and Kravitz could swear he sees the ends of his ears twitch upwards just a little to match. “I’m training him up to take over me as the greatest flipwizard who ever lived. You think I adopted him cause I love him and wanna see him grow up real good? Nah. I’m creating a minion.”

“That, Taako, is the biggest lie I’ve heard in weeks, and we were literally just speaking to Merle as he pretended he wasn’t trying to hook us up.”

Taako snorts, and shrugs. “I’m proud of him,” he admits, a little hushed. “Angus, I mean. Not Merle, his life is a  _ mess _ .”

Kravitz bursts into a bout of laughter at that, almost spilling his wine. “ _ Taako _ ,” he chides gently through the chuckles. Taako wrinkles his nose and shrugs, irreverent. “So how does a young, single guy living by himself end up adopting a kid?” he asks. “If it’s too much to ask, I understand.”

Taako shakes his head, taking another drink of his wine. “Nah, it’s cool. This story I can tell. Ya’ know that big train accident a couple years back? Conductor went on a rampage and the thing ended up going literally off the rails?”

“Yes?”

“Uh. We were there. Me and Ango and Merle and Magnus.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. Uh, not to toot my own horn or anything, but, uh, we were kinda the ones who stopped Jenkins. My lil’ boy is a damn good detective, it’s not just talk. After that we found out he was living with just his gramps, but the guy’s pretty old, and even if Angus is a little fucking  _ angel _ , it’s a struggle to take care of a kid at his age. So I adopted him.”

It’s a sweet story, and Kravitz can just imagine it: Taako kneeling in front of him, hands on his shoulders, telling him he was going to be his dad now - Angus throwing his arms around his neck in a hug. He feels the corner of his lip turn up at the thought, but he’s still slightly skeptical. “I still can’t decide whether to believe you about the Rockport Limited or not, though.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, this is one hundred percent truth: solid gold truth bombs being dropped right here by your boy, Taako, from TV.”

“Taako from TV?” Kravitz asks, laughing.

Taako fixes him with a very serious look. “I’ve been on the news on at least four separate occasions, my dude.”

“On the right or wrong side of the law?” He rests his chin in his palm of his hands, smiling now. 

“Oh, both.” Taako makes some attempt to look enigmatic and bats his eyelashes. “Which would you rather?”

Kravitz’s heart pounds a fraction quicker as a thick lump forms in his throat. “Well, the law is an institution that stands at the core of society, and it underpins so many of the systems that keep people safe,” he rambles immediately, then clamps his hands over his mouth at the realisation he sounds like a complete  _ nerd _ .

Taako blinks, twice, and bursts into laughter. “ _ Wow _ . That’s  _ incredible _ my dude, you just  _ destroyed  _ our whole vibe in about ten seconds  _ flat _ .” Kravitz is almost affronted. “And the law ain’t some incorruptible force, my dude. Look at the shit that goes down ‘cause of it. They get it wrong  _ all the time _ .”

“Now that’s  _ not _ what I mean,” Kravitz protests, sitting up a little straighter. “Despite its faults, and I admit it has many, the legal system is a necessary part of society. Yes, sometimes the rules need to be changed and exceptions need to be made, but the framework should be there.”

Taako looks dubious but shrugs, finishing his glass and getting to his feet to pour another. “Not the way I expected the conversation to go,” he jests, glancing back at him over his shoulder. His hair looks gorgeous, falling in thick blonde curls down his back, tantalisingly glossy.

“Well, politics are important factors to consider in a relationship,” Kravitz suggests.

He turns to lean his weight against the table, facing him from across the room. “Oh yeah? Don’t tell me you’re actually some weird alt-right lunatic, please.”

Kravitz snorts. “Of course not.”

“ _ Good _ . I’m not joking.”

“Nor am I. Politics isn’t just left-wing or right-wing, though, it’s… Where your values lie?”

Taako leans a little closer. “And where do yours lie, Kravitz Mac?”

He gulps, but lifts his chin. “Helping people: keeping them safe, keeping them healthy and happy.”

Almost looking a little put out, Taako shrugs. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“What about you, Taako?” Kravitz asks, after a brief moment, anxiously digging his fingers into the leatherette of the sofa.

“Uh. Angus, I guess. My sister, my brother-in-law. My family. Honestly, the rest of the world comes second.” He looks surprised at himself as he says it, a touch of pink at his cheeks.

“That’s admirable in its own way, Taako. You care for the people you love.”

A half-smile plays across Taako’s lips. “I guess. I just wanna keep them all safe and nearby. I guess… They’re the people who want me in their lives and part of me is always afraid that… No-one else will  _ have me _ .” He suddenly turns away to drink half of his glass in one go. “ _ Gods _ , this is some heavy shit to drop on a first date, huh?”

Kravitz feels like gaping, open-mouthed at him. “Wow, that-... That was a very honest answer, I’m a bit shocked.”

“Well that’s the truth!” Taako declares, shrugging. “If I can’t be honest at… at a handsome stranger’s house with a bottle of wine and cheese bought by my surrogate dad, then frankly, my man, I don’t know where I can.” Kravitz half-smiles, heart pounding, as if it’s trying to escape his throat. “What else am I gonna do?” He swirls the wine around his glass as he speaks, and Kravitz wonders if, despite not drinking much yet, the alcohol is getting to Taako already. Maybe it’s getting to him too, because watching him - his mouth stained red by the drink; his long, lithe limbs stretched out as he leans against his wall - Kravitz wants to pin him there and kiss him absolutely breathless.

“I think Merle would probably love to hear you call him that,” Kravitz says, finally, getting himself together. Taako sniggers, spluttering a little wine.

“Oh,  _ definitely. _ ” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “He’d never let me forget it, ever. He’d start calling me  _ son _ .”

“Well he won’t hear about it from me,” Kravitz promises.

“Good.” Taako finally pushes back off the wall and starts back towards him. He’s catlike as he walks, all feline balance and grace, deliberately towards him, then pauses, awkwardly, as if unsure what to do next. “I, uh. Thanks for letting me come here and everything. For letting me in, I guess?”

“You let me in too, Taako.”

“Yeah. I suppose I did.”

_ He wants to kiss him _ , can feel a tugging beneath his ribs begging him to pull him down level with him and feel the  _ connection _ that comes with it. And maybe it isn’t just the drinks making him lightheaded, but he won’t take that risk. Not when something is telling him that Taako will be the sort of man he’ll want to keep around for a long time. Fear shoots through him, electric, that maybe if he  _ does  _ kiss him, he’ll discover he’s the only person he ever wants to kiss again. Kravitz isn’t sure if he can hold out for long.

For now, he just smiles up at him, admiring the halo of light from the ceiling lamp playing at the edges of his hair. Taako smiles back, dopey and comfortable.

“Sit down again. Let’s finish off this stuff.”

They make quick work of their cheeseboard, although Taako tells Kravitz to keep the end of the creamy Lancashire, and the wine shortly after. Taako slumps back on the sofa, patting his belly contentedly. “Mmm. Those were some good eats. Love me some good cheese.”

“What’s your favourite cheese dish?” Kravitz asks, suddenly. By now, he’s pulled out the high ponytail keeping his dreadlocks tied up and his hair is loose around his shoulders, although it’s nothing in volume to Taako’s veritable bush of curls.

“ _ Gods _ . I have no idea. How would I  _ pick _ one?” He taps his finger against his chin gently, and shrugs. “Uh. I kinda like the classics sometimes, really. A good French onion soup never goes amiss, topped off with a delicious crust of gruyere cheese.” His voice changes a little as he describes it, eyes glazing over, dreamlike. Kravitz chuckles.

“Make it for me some time,” he suggests.

Taako sits up suddenly, furiously shaking his head, in a sudden wave of intoxication. “Can't.”

“Can't?”

“Nuh-uh. Not for you.”

Kravitz frowns, feeling a stab of genuine hurt despite himself. “Why not for me?” 

“I don't cook for people I like much anymore.” He clamps his hands over his mouth and flushes.

Kravitz senses that he's accidentally stumbled into a dark, dangerous territory. “Okay. I won't ask.”

Taako is wide-eyed and grateful, laying on his side and tucking himself against his chest, head nuzzled under his shoulder. “You're fucking  _ freezing _ to cuddle with.”

“Is that a deal breaker?’ Kravitz asks, too fast.

“Nah. I think you're good, homie. I keep getting told I'm really warm, but  _ let me tell you _ , Lup? Lup's a fucking furnace.”

“Your sister?” 

“Yeah, I swear to god I don't know how ol’ Barold deals with her.”

“I haven't met her yet.”

Taako’s smile is almost feral, and he turns his head to look up at him. “She's gonna chew you up and spit you out, my man.”

Without thinking, Kravitz raises a hand to tangle it in Taako’s hair, stroking his head gently. He  _ purrs _ , and Kravitz lets out a startled laugh. “If she's anything like you, she's all bark and no bite.”

“Hey. I got plenty of bite, buddy.” He pulls away, swinging his legs around and sitting up properly. 

If Kravitz were a weaker man, and the both of them less intoxicated, he would tell him to show him. Instead, he stands, offering Taako a hand. “It’s getting late. Let’s get you home.”

Taako nods, letting Kravitz pull him to his feet. Effortlessly, he slides his feet back into the heels he’d kicked off at some point in the night, somehow not toppling over on the spot. “I wanna walk.”

“In heels? Drunk?” Kravitz replies, sceptical.

“Krav. My dude. I had a stint modelling for a while? And I wore heels all day every day, no matter what shit I’d put into my body, and let me tell you, there was  _ a lot of shit _ . It’s all gucci.” True to his word, he looks steady and still completely flawless, no matter how messy his hair or rumpled his blouse. “Plus, you drank too. You shouldn’t be driving.”

“It shouldn’t be too far,” he reasons, even knowing they aren’t exactly next door neighbours. “I’ll walk you there.”

“Pssh. Fine.”

On their way out, Taako pauses to fish a cigarette from the pack Kravitz left out on the counter, winking as he places it in his mouth, grabbing the lighter as he goes, trudging down the stairs to wait outside at the bottom and light up. Kravitz locks the door behind him and meets him, clouded in a breath of smoke.

“Nice night,” Taako says.

“Yeah."

“I think I remember there being a shortcut, ya know.”

“Great. Let’s go.” Kravitz wonders if it would be too much to offer him his arm, but he does it anyway. With a smirk, Taako accepts.

“Such a  _ gentleman _ .”

“Of course. I was raised well.” He winks. It comes from nowhere but feels right, especially when he catches Taako, in the corner of his eye, giggling, free hand raised to his mouth, cigarette dangling between his fingers, strange, beautiful, multicoloured eyes bright. He leads them into a thicket of trees, along a dirt path, seemingly not noticing his heels digging into the mud. They walk, and they keep walking.

Kravitz has seen Taako at his worst and found him attractive enough. Dressed well, makeup on and set against the purple sunset, he is  _ gorgeous _ . He all but glows under the silver-blue light, filtering through the canopy of leaves overhead. “I know there’s a shortcut  _ somewhere _ around here,” Taako says, pausing. He clicks his tongue rhythmically against the roof of his mouth as he thinks.

“Are we lost?” Kravitz asks.

“Maybe a little. It’ll be fine. We’ll get there eventually.” He stubs the butt of his cigarette almost violently into a patch of moss growing on the side of a tree and flicks it into a bush. 

“Some shortcut,” Kravitz jokes.

“ _ Ha ha _ .” Frustrated and newly empty-handed, Taako detaches himself from Kravitz and reaches for the bobble he’d looped around his wrist to wind his heavy bush of hair into a bun. “At least we got good company, right?” He beams up at him, red lips and flushed cheeks, probably from the cold.

“Yeah,” Kravitz says, dumb. “We do.”

He takes his hand this time, linking their fingers together. Taako’s hand is unbelievably warm in his, long fingers filling the gaps between his own like they belong there. They stumble along the path, hand in hand, finally reemerging out the other side, and Taako cheers. “I  _ was _ right!”

“I still wouldn’t call it a shortcut,” he grumbles.

“Maybe not. But we got a nice, romantic walk through the woods out of it at least.” He isn’t wrong.

“Was that your ulterior motive all along?”

“I’m gonna plead the fifth,” he says.

“This isn’t Fantasy America. That’s not a thing,” Kravitz tells him.

“It’s still  _ Fantasy _ . It can be a thing if I really want,” Taako says, sagely.

Finally, they reach Taako’s door. He fishes a set of keys and his phone from the pocket of his skirt and lets Kravitz in. “Is Angus not home yet?” he asks. 

“I told him the other day he could stay with Mavis tonight. Probably why Merle decided to put his little plan in place today.”

“Oh.” Kravitz lingers in the doorway a moment, then steps inside.

“Do you. Wanna just crash on my couch for the night? I don’t wanna make you walk back while it’s late. If you’ve got a shift or something I can wake you up.” Taako tucks a strand of hair he missed behind his ear.

“I… suppose so. I’ve got tomorrow off anyway.”

Taako nods. “Lemme just. Grab you a blanket, I guess? And like. Some jammies?”

“Sure.”

For a painfully long moment, Kravitz waits, until Taako returns with a pair of worn, blue tartan pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt a size too small for him. He manages to get it all on as Taako turns his back, but they sit a little tighter than he’d prefer. “Thank you, Taako.”

“No worries, bubbeleh,” he replies. At his sides, Taako’s fingers twitch, and he fists his hands. “Why don’t you pay me back with a good night kiss, handsome?”

Kravitz leans forward, as if aiming for his lips, but moves at the last minute to kiss him right on the jut of his cheekbone. Taako pulls back, laughing to himself. “There’s something here, isn’t there?” he says.

“I think so,” Kravitz admits.

Taako reaches back for the blanket to pass it over to him, then gestures to the sofa. “Well. Good night, babe.”

“Good night, Taako,” Kravitz says, smiling.

As Taako flips off the light switch and closes the door, he throws himself into his makeshift bed and presses his face into his hands, and thinks he’s halfway in love already.


End file.
